


A Gentle Yearning (Working Title)

by zalrb



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Mutual Pining, Regency Romance, Sexual Tension, Smut, True Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29594493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zalrb/pseuds/zalrb
Summary: Stolen glances. Clandestine rendezvous. Different worlds. Circumstantial obstacles. Stefan and Elena in a Period AU where they pine for on another.
Relationships: Caroline Forbes/Elena Gilbert/Stefan Salvatore, Elena Gilbert/Damon Salvatore/Stefan Salvatore, Elena Gilbert/Stefan Salvatore
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. With Water

**Author's Note:**

> This is not historically accurate. And this is a Stelena piece.

In time and with water, everything changes.

\- Leonardo DaVinci

  
The cottage was small and no more than one room. Inside, there was a bed, a desk, a tub, a stove and a sink. There was once a table to eat at but it had been removed. Outside, the stone was covered in moss and the exterior nearly looked one with the grounds though not nearly as manicured as the Gilberts' gardens.

  
It was the home of Stefan Salvatore, the son of the groundskeeper. The irony that he should live in such unruly quarters was not lost on him, though he liked the wild appearance of his home; the fact that it looked so rundown made it look unassuming, which made it private and that was exactly how he wanted it. He'd ask the Gilberts on a regular basis if the cottage had become an eyesore that needed more than basic upkeep and on a regular basis they'd told him that it was fine, that it added "character" to the estate, though one of them made it a point to tease him about it whenever she could.

"It really is quite dreadful, you know," she'd say, crossing her hand across her face to tuck a long piece of hair behind her ear.

He'd grin and nod his head, glancing shyly to the ground. "Do you want me to fix it?"

There would be a silence that would stretch for what felt like eternity. Every time they'd have the conversation. And then finally, Stefan would look up at her to find that her eyes had never left him, her expression delicate but serious, a faint wistfulness, and she would shake her head.

"No. Don't change a single thing," she'd say.

She, being Elena Gilbert --- the eldest of two children and the only daughter. Now, she was walking along the grounds and not alone. Her brother, Jeremy, trailed behind her but next to her, next to her was a caller. A gentleman. Dark-haired and pompous, Stefan could tell, even from where he sat, at the desk, by the window in his cottage.

  
This man, this gentleman, had visited the estate the day before too. Yesterday afternoon, it had been the master and mistress of the house that chaperoned the stroll among the gardens, dallying a few paces behind. That today, it was her brother, an authority though a much lesser one, had signaled an ease in propriety, particularly since Elena hadn't even made her debut into society yet, and Stefan felt a sourness that seethed in his gut. It hurt to watch them together, yet he knew he couldn’t look away.

Yesterday and today, too, he wondered if Elena had chosen where they took their stroll. The estate was quite large with many different paths in the garden but for the second time in two days, they had ambled along a trail that was in full view of the cottage. In full view of him.

Or perhaps he merely hoped that it’d been her decision, yearned with an earnestness that made him feel foolish yearned that she was either flaunting her prospects to incite this kind of reaction in him or that she was doing her best to keep him aware. Though the reasons for her to do either would be impossible reasons, reasons that could not exist.

  
Stefan buried his face in his hands. From the moment they saw each other as children, he'd been taken with her; he'd found her pretty, yes, prettier than any other girl he’d ever seen, but it was more than that, something indescribable that shone from within her. Still, it wasn't until the first time that they actually met that infatuation gave way to appreciation and he came to the realization that he could and would love her. He'd been searching for frogs in a nearby pond and she'd sneaked up on him.

"You're not doing it right," she'd called from the bank.

He looked at her in her pristine white dress that he knew had to cost more than a year of his father’s wages, and turned his back to her. She didn’t know the first thing about catching frogs. He hadn't imagined she'd stomp into the muddy water with him and play and laugh and splash, he hadn’t imagined that that would be the best day of his life.

What was even more unexpected was how naturally they became friends after that, how he they became each other’s confidants, how they exchanged books and debated ideas and squirreled away moments together outside of watchful eyes, how they would sometimes write letters to one another, how they would always find a way to tell the other about their days.

  
He’d lived for those moments and so the moments when he was not with her were torturous indeed and yet they were the sweetest form of agony. He could anticipate their brief moments of togetherness, anticipate the knock on his door that signaled she was on the other side waiting for him, for him to have a quick chat with. Stefan closed his eyes. He could await hearing her laugh, oh! how she laughed. The humour reached her eyes and gave way to a tenderness that, for just a moment, he allowed himself to think was directed at him.

  
It could never be, he knew that, and yet he ---

No. Abruptly, Stefan stood up from his desk, turning away from the window. No, it was best not to draw that thought to its conclusion. He needed to busy himself. There were some weeds that needed pulling. Stefan picked up his pail, his tools, and went outside of the cottage to the spot that needed tending to. It wasn’t too far from the cottage, at the steps that led from the upper level of the garden to the lower one. He buried his thoughts, his longings, in the motions of his work, dusting his dirty palms on his shirt.

"Don't you have the day off?"

Stefan closed his eyes, a faint smile on his face, and looked up to see Elena at the top of the steps. She was barefoot, in a simple cream dress that she made look anything but simple, the fabric flowing with her body like water. Her dark hair that had been pinned up before in proper company now fell free and loose to her shoulders. Stefan saw her everyday, they laughed and spoke like the old friends they were, and yet each time she came around to see him felt like the first time she knocked on his door.

  
He cleared his throat and looked away. "Idle hands..."

Elena skipped down a few steps to his level. "I'd like to help."

Stefan grinned and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. "And get dirt on your pretty dress?" He chanced one more glance at her, though she seemed to be looking away. "Don't you have company?"

She looked back at him and tilted her head, swaying slightly. "You saw us then?"

You know I did. I know you know I did.

"So is there a date?" said Stefan, inching a little further away from her. "For the wedding?"

Elena laughed. "Don't be absurd, Stefan, I haven't even made my debut."

"And I know how much you're looking forward to that."

"That's sarcasm I hope," said Elena lightly. "Even if it is only for a few weeks, I really have no desire to leave the countryside or to leave the house or to leave..." A deep sadness had passed over Elena's expression. It was fleeting but the fact that it made an appearance at all had called to something in Stefan that made him desperate to comfort her, though he remained firmly in his spot. "Anyway," she said.

"Well the debut seems like a formality more than anything anyway," said Stefan. "Your father seems to like ..."

"Damien," said Elena, sitting on a ledge. "No, Damon. Lord Damon."

"I suppose the help won't receive any invitations."

Elena looked at him, wounded. "Don't be nasty, Stefan."

He closed his eyes. "Elena---"

"Please," she said. "I..."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was just trying to be funny.”

Elena shook her head. "I don't want to talk about him anymore," she said.

Excellent. Neither do I.

  
She studied him for a few moments. "You look thirsty.”

"Parched," he agreed. "Would you like a glass of water then?"

"Well, if you'll be getting a glass yourself." She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling and Stefan tried not to marvel in how delightful he found her.

"I'll be back in a minute."

He went back to his cottage and saw that all of his dishes were dirty, save for one glass, one plate and a fork and knife. It didn't matter, she'd only suggested he was thirsty so he could get her a drink without either of them having to be inappropriate by outright offering and/or asking for a drink. He got the water and returned to her; a part of him wanted to run to her, to do everything in his power to make sure they could have as much time together as possible, including cutting down the time it took to be in her presence again. The other part of him wanted to walk slowly, to see if she experienced the same beautiful anguish he did in the anticipation of seeing him again, though he would never know. 

"You took your time," she said.

His heart leapt. "Sorry."

Elena lowered her eyes. "Well go on, then," she said, nodding to the glass.

  
Stefan looked at it. "I only have the one," he said. "Haven't gotten around to the washing."

Elena laughed. "What were you doing all day?"

Waiting for this. For you. "You know, this and that."

"You live by yourself," she said. "How could you possibly have so many unwashed dishes? Did you entertain?" Her tone dropped to a knowing tease.

Stefan laughed nervously and shook his head but said nothing. His silence made Elena's face falter, it was slight, nearly imperceptible, but he noticed it.

"Take the drink, I insist," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, if you insist."

Stefan put the glass to his mouth and sighed as the water trickled down his throat, its coolness a welcome relief to the frenzy he contained to a simmer within him. He saw Elena watch him with interest, her eyes alight with what looked like a primal curiosity, as if she had never seen anyone drink water before.

  
He stopped; the glass half-empty and exhaled at the satiation. "It seems I was even more parched than I thought."

Elena didn’t say anything but extended her arm, her hand outstretched, and Stefan found himself gripping the glass, confused.

"Well I am thirsty," she said quietly, as if she couldn't believe her own words but was determined to say them. "Come on, now," there was more certainty now, "be a gentleman."

In a daze, Stefan relaxed his hold on the glass and Elena took it in her hand. Surely, Stefan thought, surely, she wouldn't --- but he saw her, he watched her turn the glass ever so slightly so that when she put the rim to her mouth ... ... it enveloped the wet mark left by his own. Stefan watched the water slide down the glass into Elena's mouth; she moaned softly in satisfaction and Sttefan parted his lips, a quick exhale. She held him in her gaze while she took deep, luxurious gulps.

A stirring deep in his gut flushed his skin a heated pink and blurred his vision with a lightheaded-ness he knew only the physicality of her could correct. There was an odd tingling that started at his fingertips and plagued everywhere else, it was as if his entire body was singing, screaming, for one person. Elena had drained the glass and lowered it, blinking rapidly; a few streams of water snaked down her neck, beneath her neckline, and Stefan swallowed hard. He was burning, burning everywhere.

Stefan jerked, as if he were going to move and Elena raised her head, ready and willing and ---

"Oh, there you are!"

Elena's maid had flurried down the steps. Stefan shook his head, as if waking himself from a reverie, and turned away from Elena as Caroline joined them.

"Your mother and father are looking for you!" She glanced at Stefan. “Good afternoon, Stefan.”

“Yes,” he said vaguely. “Good afternoon.”

“You were supposed to be at tea ages ago,” said Caroline.

“Oh yes, right. Tea.”

Stefan didn’t want to watch her leave and most times allowed himself the small mercy of looking away whenever she did but it was different now; she pulled his gaze with her and her ever-growing absence with each step only served to stoke the simmering within him into a barely controllable fire.


	2. Different Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An erotic moment leads to a deeper connection between Stefan and Elena.

It had been there since this afternoon. The heat. The needing. The ache. A throbbing deep in her belly that sprouted because of a simple action, the simplest action, and yet an action that couldn't stop circling her thoughts. 

Elena was lying on her back, her body splayed on the bed; the chiffon of her nightgown stuck to her skin, an oppressive layer, and her chest was slick with sweat. She'd opened the large, sash windows, wishing for an evening breeze to cool her down but nature seemed to have abandoned her, leaving her to twist with this burning that she hadn't been able to escape for hours. 

At dinner, she'd told her parents that she'd felt feverish and they hadn't questioned her since she'd chosen to turn in for the night rather than stay up to watch the comet with them. Elena had been looking forward to seeing the comet for weeks but it suddenly seemed insignificant in the wake of what felt like a revivification of her body.

Her mind had been in a fog even throughout tea. Upon reaching the salon, she'd realized her father had asked Damon-not-Damien to stay for a cup and she was expected to hold his attention even though it was improper for either party to suggest even the possibility of courtship when Elena hadn't made her debut. It was perhaps only a week away but still, nothing could be official until she was introduced to society. And yet, this dark-haired man with sparkling blue eyes in a fine suit sat with them, after she'd thought the conclusion of their suggested and therefore compulsory walk meant that she'd been free of him. He beamed at everyone in the room with the largest smile Elena had ever seen; it seemed to dazzle her mother, Miranda, and her Aunt Jenna grinned foolishly into her cup, yet its obvious charm unsettled something in Elena. That smile felt oddly like a weapon rather than an expression of contentment. 

"How did you like the stroll, Damon?" said Miranda.  
"Oh," he said with a flourish. "I must say, it was ravishing."  
Elena frowned. 'Ravishing' was such an odd word to describe a walk, he would have been better off with 'invigorating' if he didn't want to use a common word such as 'pleasant'. Briefly, Elena wondered what Stefan would have said and decided he would've been direct: 'I liked it quite fine' simple, yes, but honest and sincere. Like Stefan. Oh, Stefan. The pulse within her contracted at the thought of him and she pressed her lips together to hide her fluster.  
"Though I must say," Damon continued after a sip of tea. "It was not quite as ravishing as the company I was so fortunate to be graced with."

Jeremy's eyes narrowed slightly though he said nothing. 

"Our Elena is a treasure," said Grayson Gilbert. "Quite the talent too."   
"Really?" Elena could see Damon turn to her, "How marvelous."   
"Not particularly," she muttered.   
"Oh, but you're being modest," said Damon, putting down his saucer. "I have never known Grayson Gilbert to be a liar. I would - if permitted, of course - I would quite enjoy seeing this talent."   
Elena said nothing and merely smiled demurely while Jeremy laughed from his seat. "What's wrong, Damon? Not enough entertainment at The Club?" 

A brief pause and then chuckling. There was some back-and-forth between Damon, her brother and her father but they couldn't hold Elena's attention; all she could think about was what her body was telling her. 

Truth be told, Elena was accustomed to the affect Stefan could have on her; she had learned to navigate it very early on. There was a way his eyes could catch the sunlight, glinting with a vivid green, intensifying his already earnest gaze that did more than sparkle but see, really see, and for a moment, when that happened, Elena forgot the mechanics of breathing. 

Stefan had a quiet passion to his character, too, simmering beneath his taciturn nature, and there were moments he let the passion take a hold of him, such as when he came upon a particularly interesting book that he wanted to share with her, and the intensity stirred something in her, like imagination, it made her want to dream and she'd walk away from their talks, starry-eyed and inspired. 

But today had been different. Today the effect had been much more ... natural. Or was that the word? It didn't seem quite right.

Elena didn't remember it being agreed that she would showcase her talent, she didn't remember moving from her chair to the piano at the corner of the parlour. She could barely feel the ivory beneath her hands as her fingers flurried across the keys, her mind fixed elsewhere.

Today had been different because she'd seen Stefan work. Of course, she'd seen him work hundreds of times over the years, keeping an eye on him from behind a window of the manor or from her shaded seat in the garden, always keen to make sure she could place exactly where he was so she could look at him as some form of private solace if need be. 

But this afternoon, she'd been right behind him when he tended the ground, mesmerized by the way his muscles worked beneath the fabric of his shirt, tensing and expanding, roiling. And then she was beside him when he'd done that simple action. 

The rolling up of his sleeves.

Except, that wasn't quite it. He didn't roll them up in one seamless motion, he folded back the cuffs --- absently --- and then continued to turn up his sleeves, exposing his forearms, sinewy yet lean, and she'd had to look away before he could glimpse the dilation of her pupils.

But she'd rendered her attempt at modesty useless with what she did next --- a decision so impulsive, so rash, so necessary.

For years she had been close to Stefan, her parents had indulged their friendship, had allowed her to lend him books from their library, 

to converse in the gardens, it was all innocent, even charitable for a girl to speak to such a boy, the impossible couldn't be a threat particularly since she and he were not yet adults, particularly since they'd had no access to Elena's fancies. 

But it was different now, or about to be different; they were changing, she was changing --- there were suitors now, potentials. The whiff of marriage was in the air the exact moment Elena began to realize, truly realize, that with Stefan's profound sense of philosophy came his broad shoulders and sturdy hands. So she had to do what she did; she had to feel him in some way before she no longer could. And so she sipped. From his glass. Drank from the same water he did. How she relished it with such vigour, she couldn't stifle the moan she released.

Elena gripped her sheets at the remembered image.

Stefan had watched her as she drank, she even saw the imperceptible parting of his lips, heard the strangled exhale, those eyes in that sun, it inflamed the ache.

And now she was in her room, feverish and throbbing, her skin heated with memory, with the desire and the resentment that he had not acted before Caroline fetched her. The memory agonized her in the most welcomed way, causing her back to bow off the bed.

She wanted to do ... something, something to relieve herself of this frustration, of this maddening, electrifying sense of non-fulfillment or she was sure she'd lose her mind.

She had to move. 

Elena shrugged on her housecoat, sheer and weightless, not quite so oppressive, and slowly opened her bedroom door, running through the enfilade, past the imposing portraits of her forebears, her feet light and quick on the carpeted floor. She tiptoed down the curved staircase and decided not to leave through the main entrance hall, as her family would be in the courtyard at the front of the manor. She crept through the arched corridors, flitting past the galleries and reception halls until she reached the entrance closest to the path that curved into the woods 

Finally, outside. Elena began to run with earnest. The grass was wet and soft on her soles and the openness of the environment alleviated, to some small degree, the pressing concern that had made her run in the first place. There was something electrifying about leaving the house, a sense of freedom was in her strides, for she didn’t feel like she was running away from something but toward it.

Up ahead she saw the cluster of oak trees that acted as gatekeepers to the wood but needing a moment, she slowed down to a stop. She halted at the pond to take a breath, only to find herself once again breathless, coming face to face with an unsuspecting Stefan, who’d been sitting on the ground, head up to the sky.

Elena stared at him. Even with the breeze blowing through her gown, cool and refreshing, even with gaze cruelly turned away from her, she’d been reignited.

As if drawn like a magnet, Stefan turned his head and saw her. He then scrambled up to his feet, though nothing about his air or posture appeared nervous. He stood still for a beat, stunned. Affected. 

And then blinking rapidly, he turned around. His modesty made Elena remember her sense of propriety and quickly, hid behind a large tree, clutching the trunk. Mortified. Abashed ... Hopeful.

"My deepest apologies," she heard him say.  
"Stefan, there's no need," she called back.  
"I didn't intend - I was out to look at the comet."

Oh yes, the comet. 

"Believe me, I do not doubt you," she said emphatically.

"It's no excuse, I should've... I have dishonoured you, putting you in this position."   
"No, I should not have run out like that, dressed like this, I don't know what came over me. If anyone saw ... they would blame you without thought, without question and I was selfish to do that to you."   
"Don't blame yourself, you didn't know I would be here."   
But she did. A part of her did. 

"I should go," he said.

Elena closed her eyes. She did not want him to go. "That is probably what's best." 

She heard no footsteps to indicate that he'd left and she grinned. For a few seconds, Elena allowed herself to revel in his presence, in his inability to walk away, and then she looked up to the sky, the back of her head nestled on the trunk. 

The comet was even more wondrous than she’d imagined, merely a ball of snow and yet it streaked the sky with light, painting the darkness with its cosmic existence. She felt nearly overcome with emotion.

"It really is quite magnificent," she said, enthralled by the sight.  
"A rare quality," said Stefan. "Though apparently one in abundance tonight."

Elena felt suddenly shy. "Are you flattering me?"

She heard a faint rustle that indicated Stefan was walking toward her. "You are in no need of flattery when the truth will suffice."

His words were an enchantment rather than a seduction.

"Women must love you,” she said.

She didn't know how she knew but she sensed that he'd leaned his back against the other side of the tree. 

"No women,” he said.

“I find that hard to believe,” said Elena. She’d seen the interest with her own eyes, in the moments he didn’t realize she’d been observing him.

“Don’t you think you would’ve known by now?”

“I don’t expect you to tell me everything, Stefan.” 

“Well I do,” he said simply.

Elena found herself believing him. "You don't have to placate me," she said, trying to steer her thoughts.

He chuckled. "I didn't realize the knowledge that I was unencumbered would appease you."

Yes you did, she wanted to say. Of course, you did. Neither of them said anything else but looked upward to the comet, and Elena heard nothing but the sound of their breathing, an undertaking that somehow became a unison effort, as if they were both inhaling and expelling the same air, at the same time, in the same breath. 

But Elena wanted to take his breath into hers. With a kiss. A desperate embrace. She yearned to know what her body felt like in his hands. 

"I have this feeling---"

"Yes," he said at once. 

Elena sighed, at once relieved and saddened. She sagged against the tree. "Will it pass?" 

Silence. 

"Did it ever pass?" he asked quietly. "Was it always there?"

She heard the slight uncertainty in his voice. "Always," she confirmed. "But now I feel as if I'll explode with it." 

Stefan didn't respond but Elena didn't need him to; she could feel him turning her words over in his mind, letting it settle within him. He was in the process of keeping her statement, her sentiment. 

Slowly, Elena started to amble around the tree, her fingers skating along the trunk and she heard Stefan's footsteps, so that he was always in front of her even though they were walking in circles; she'd only be able to see him if she quickened her pace like she desperately yearned to. But she kept her restraint and she kept her leisure pace, comforted and teased by the sound of his fingers also trailing along the trunk, knowing that he touched every spot she did. 

"I think I may be damned," he said, though he didn’t sound too disheartened by the realization.

"Damned."

"With longing. Never-ending longing."

Elena stopped and pressed herself against the tree and carefully peered out from behind the trunk so that if Stefan turned around, he'd only see a sliver of her face. He did turn around, his expression anguished.

"What do the poets say about it?" she asked.

He swallowed hard, his eyes fluttering slightly and then spoke in a choked voice. “ _...burning bright/In the forests of the night/What immortal hand or eye/ Could frame thy fearful symmetry..._ ”

She didn't know why she asked him that, or perhaps she did; she'd always considered Stefan to possess an artistic soul, which made his recitations of poetry a rousing event that not only pulled her into the beauty of the language, but into the beauty of him, his nature, his mind, until recently, it was her most intimate connection to him. Though it was all different now, his tenor, his cadence, his voice, his expression.... it all stirred in her the dizzying combination of wistfulness and ... primal desire. 

“ _And what shoulder, & what art/Could twist the sinews of thy heart?/And when thy heart began to beat/What dread hand? & what dread feet?_" 

Elena could not wait for Stefan to finish the poem, for if she did, she knew she would make another rash decision that would do nothing but torment the both of them more than they were already tormented. Abruptly, she ran away while he was in mid-sentence, hurrying back to the manor, her heart full and her eyes teary, unsure of whether tonight was a celebration or damnation. 

She slipped back in through the side entrance but her feet barely touched the carpet when she was seized by her shoulders and forcibly moved down a corridor.   
"What--?"  
She was pulled into the gallery and in the light of the moon, streaming through the windows saw her brother's furious face.   
"Are you mad?!" he yelled. 


End file.
